These Days Back In December
by rayychel infinity
Summary: Blaine kisses him one last time, pulls away; when Kurt's eyes focus Blaine's grinning at him, wide and inviting and open, pupils dilated but eyes still glinting playfulness. "Race you to the bedroom," he says excitedly.


**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "Decembers" by Hawthorne Heights.  
>Warnings are: rimming, barebacking, dirty-talk, liiiiittle bit of spanking.<p>

Reviewers, ugh, just thanks. Whenever I feel like I'm not adequate enough you all prove me wrong. Stop being so beautiful :)

TUMBLR IS THAT WAY  
><strong>endofadream [.] tumblr [.] com<strong>

****xxxxXxxxx****

It starts with a cigarette. Or maybe not.

More often than not, it starts because even though they're both well into their twenties now with steady careers, Kurt and Blaine have a hard time keeping their hands to themselves.

Kurt's lounging on their threadbare couch, a brown monstrosity with a few holes in the cushions and more than a few suspicious stains darkening the corduroy fabric. They'd gotten it at a thrift store after they'd graduated college and actually got enough money from their jobs to purchase something other than tables and chairs.

Outside the snow is falling thick and heavy, flakes falling past the grimy kitchen window above their sink. The city's peaceful like this, hushed in ways that it never is like even the hustle and bustle of nonstop traffic and people have actually stopped to admire.

"It's snowing," Kurt hears Blaine say, his voice echoing in the openness of their apartment.

He looks up, sees Blaine standing in the doorway and looking at the sliding glass door that opens up onto their ten-foot-by-five-foot porch. Raising an eyebrow, Kurt flips the page on the magazine he's reading and says, "Wonderful observation."

Blaine shoots Kurt a simpering look that he misses. "So I can't go outside, darling." Blaine's always been one for pet names, a lingering habit leftover from his mother's coddling as he grew up. Kurt's not too big on it, but when they're out shopping at the local grocery store and Blaine finds something he thinks they may need on the shelves it's always _Kurt, dear_ or _honey, look at this_ and it always,_ always_ makes Kurt swell with pride at the domesticity of it all.

"Then cuddle up next to me." It's rare that they're both off at the same time for an entire day, and Kurt's really sort of missed their college days when they'd have weekends and then those two lucky semesters when their schedules were almost the same and they had whole afternoons off to christen their still-new apartment and get used to having their own place and not a cramped dorm in a hall that threw parties all night and nearly every night.

"I would," Blaine replies, "but I don't think you'd like it."

"What on—" Kurt looks up, confused, and notices for the first time that Blaine's holding an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes. He must've been heading out for his afternoon smoke. "Oh."

"Yes, oh."

Kurt purses his lips. It hadn't been his favorite thing when Blaine had picked up the habit from their group of friends back in his junior year of college, but it's not like Kurt can control every aspect of Blaine's life. The only thing that he can really do is tell him to take is easy and hope for the best.

They have an armchair, one of those overstuffed ones with claw-footed feet that Kurt had to have. The upholstery isn't much better off than the couch, but it's a deep red color and it's their most comfortable piece of furniture to boot, so Kurt's reluctant to ever part with it. When Kurt doesn't say anything else besides "oh," Blaine heads towards the chair, dragging the end table over closer and setting the ashtray down on it.

Kurt scrunches his nose up when Blaine shakes a cigarette from the pack and pulls a lighter from the front pocket of his well-worn blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt. As much as Kurt hates the smell of smoke and the overall unappealing nature of the habit, he does have to admit that Blaine looks _hot_ when he's taking a pull.

Like now, with his lips on the filter and the cherry of the cigarette burning red-orange, he's relaxed, at ease; and when he tilts his head back and blows a fan of gray smoke toward the ceiling, Kurt finds his gaze fixated on the column of Blaine's throat and the way it looks when Blaine licks his lips and swallows.

And this repeats. And repeats.

Suddenly the words on Kurt's magazine pages, the line after tiny line of fashion tips and _do_s and _don't_s, they all blur. The comfortable slouchy sweater he's wearing suddenly feels stifling and the distance from one threadbare furniture item to another is like the Atlantic Ocean, huge and imposing and cold. The furnace finally kicks in with a loud metallic rattle; by now they're both wholly unfazed by the death-like noise it makes.

Coil after coil of gray smoke goes up and evaporates, disappears like flighty ghosts and Kurt's watched every single one of them. Blaine's absentmindedly checking his phone, nearly-finished cigarette held between two fingers, the line of ash getting longer until he taps it against the side of the ashtray.

Kurt swallows; in the companionable silence it sounds too-loud, too-noisy and oh god Blaine is probably uncomfortably aware of how turned on Kurt is right now. Blaine looks up, catches Kurt's doe-eyed pupil-dilated stare and meets it with a half-smile, one of his warm ones Kurt really only ever sees used on himself or old college buddies.

Kurt goes back to reading, or really, staring at hungry models with over-airbrushed bodies and imposed irises as he wonders what Blaine would do if he stalked over to him, knocked that cancer stick from his fingers, and showed him _other_ things he could be sucking on to pass the time on a cold, gray winter afternoon.

Luckily, he doesn't have to wonder for long: a minute later, maybe longer, maybe shorter, Kurt doesn't even know anymore, but however long later the magazine hits the floor with a muted thump and a flutter of glossy pages and his lap is suddenly a lot warmer with Blaine straddling him.

And kissing, shit, _kissing_ and Blaine tastes like nicotine and smoke with an underlying hint of toothpaste but Kurt can't even care right now; his hands are working their way into Blaine's hair, into the curls that have long since been freed of too much gel, and Blaine's thighs are around Kurt's hips, muscles flexing as he bends and stretches to change the angle, to tilt his head and open his mouth wider, breaths hot and panting against Kurt's skin when Blaine pulls back a fraction of an inch, enough to breathe in and attach his mouth back to Kurt's with a hungry sound, the kind Kurt only ever hears on porn movies.

"I saw you staring at me," Blaine whispers, throaty and deep and that's nearly enough to unravel Kurt right here. "I bet you were thinking about me sucking your dick."

Before Kurt can answer Blaine's kissing down his neck, mouth open and hot; he licks a trail back up to Kurt's ear, where he says, "Funnily enough, I was thinking about your dick in my ass."

Kurt groans, clutches tight to Blaine's shoulders and pushes up with his hips. "I need to fuck you," he gasps, a confirmation of sorts, like they ever need it, pushing Blaine's head down and holding him there to kiss him wet and deep, teeth clamping onto Blaine's lush bottom lip. This has been going on since high school, since they were just teenagers who didn't know anything outside their home towns, and hardly anything's changed. They still need, they still want.

Blaine kisses him one last time, pulls away; when Kurt's eyes focus Blaine's grinning at him, wide and inviting and open, pupils dilated but eyes still glinting playfulness. "Race you to the bedroom," he says excitedly, and like this, with hair mussed and curls tugged out of place, with him grinning easily, he still looks seventeen, still like the boy Kurt had first fallen in love with on the stairs, almost like if Kurt closed his eyes and let himself get lost he'd hear the sounds of dozen of other boys' voices mixing, hear laughter and the sound of identical pairs of shoes descending down the staircase alongside Kurt.

"You're on," Kurt replies, nuzzling Blaine's cheek before pushing him off and making a mad dash for the peeling-paint door that leads to their bedroom. He hears Blaine bray a laugh from the floor as he scrambles up.

They may be grown up now, but love never ages.

****xxxxXxxxx****

Blaine sucks cock because he gets off on it. Because he always comes the hardest when his lips are stretched, when saliva is running down his chin and his jaw is _aching_ and he's stuffed, so stuffed; sometimes a dildo's in his ass, a vibrator or a butt plug; sometimes it's his fingers, Kurt's if he's straddling his chest.

Kurt likes watching Blaine give head because it's always enthusiastic and wet and he gets off on the noises almost more than anything else. Blaine also has a tendency to look up at him through those thick lashes, his cheeks sunken and Kurt's cock still deep in his throat, and if he's going for demure he's fucking nailing it. Most of the time Kurt can't help but think back to when this exact image had been his wildest fantasy that he thought would never come true.

Those times usually end with him coming on Blaine's face.

And this is all beautiful, of course it is because it's Blaine, but it's not when he's at his peak.

Blaine on all fours, however, is probably the most beautiful sight Kurt's ever seen.

And that's where he's at after stumbling into the bedroom after Kurt, hands gripping fabric and ridding bodies of clothes, Kurt's fingers tight on Blaine's hip and then his ass as he pushed them together and they fell to the bed in a heap until they'd situated themselves out.

Blaine's body language—quivering shoulders here, head dropped to his chest there—is something Kurt knows extremely well. That tightening of a corded muscle there, the twitching of a bicep and a low whine that Blaine almost never registers are all the signs Kurt's come to know in the seven years they've been together.

His hands latch tight to Blaine's hips, fingers digging in as his eyes rove over the curve of Blaine's cheeks, the shameless spread of his ass and his stretched-out hole, lube glistening on the darker skin in the dim light of their bedroom. Glancing over at the clock, Kurt sees that it's barely three in the afternoon; a thrill runs through him as he realizes that they still have _all day_ to do this.

For now Blaine's propped up on his hands and knees, but Kurt knows that before long he'll be on his elbows, ass raised as high as he can go and legs spread almost painfully wide as Kurt fucks into him deep and hard.

Blaine's skin is dark and flawless, looking nearly airbrushed; Kurt doesn't think as he brings a hand down on Blaine's left ass cheek, the crack resonating in the otherwise-silent room as Blaine's skin ripples under Kurt's palm. Blaine starts, jerks, moans and breathes deep, says, "_Kurt_," with a whine to it that Kurt's never heard before, an almost desperate edge that excites him.

"That was sort of an accident," Kurt admits. This is something they'd never done, never talked about trying, but Blaine's clearly into it and, well, that's as good of a sign as anything. "But I'm glad you liked it."

"Please tell me you're going to do that when your cock is so deep inside me that I forget my own name," Blaine replies, and Kurt watches the dip of his body, the movement of his shoulder and knows that Blaine is jerking himself off, too worked up to care about anything other than immediately having a hand on his cock.

"Honey, I'll do it when I'm licking my dripping come out of your used little asshole," Kurt says, sliding his cock against the back of Blaine's thigh, clear smears of pre-come smoothing down the fine hair. He still feels a little ridiculous speaking like this, but it always makes Blaine moan obscenely loud and rut against the bed like it's going out of style and that is a reward in itself.

The dirty-talk, that had happened, like everything else, accidentally. In high school they never went out on a limb: they had sex, blowjobs, handjobs, fingering when there wasn't a lot of time but still enough. When it was just Kurt his first year of college, they Skyped a few times a week, and at least one time would end up with them getting off together like thousands of miles didn't separate them.

Blaine had been the one to initiate it, actually. He'd never begged before, never asked Kurt to fuck him or anything like that, but this time, with Kurt watching and a hand on his own dick in his dorm at NYU, Blaine begs for the first time and Kurt comes harder than he ever has. And it had stuck.

"God, Kurt," Blaine says in a strained voice, dropping his hand from his cock to prop himself up, pushing back against Kurt and grinding his ass in small circles. "Just fuck me, please."

Kurt runs his index finger around the stretched, swollen rim of Blaine's asshole, dipping it in and bringing his thumb up to rub at Blaine's perineum before sliding it back to join his index finger, rubbing along the outside of the rim while Kurt swivels his finger just inside.

"First," Kurt drawls, leaning down to drag his teeth down one supple cheek, then the other, "I'm going to lick you open because I don't think you're wet enough to take my big, thick cock, are you, Blaine?"

"No," Blaine whines in response.

"Then," Kurt says as if Blaine never spoke, "I'm going to fuck you just like you wanted, until you're so close you can taste it."

"Wanna taste_ you_," Blaine whines again.

"In due time," Kurt says distractedly, already spacing his knees and bending down to run his tongue from Blaine's lower back down the sensitive skin between his cheeks to his hole. He inhales deeply, inhales the smell of _Blaine_, tastes and comes away with the flavored lube they use for occasions like this, a hint of barely-edible strawberry mixed in with Blaine, musky and earthy and so, so perfect.

"Oh, god," Blaine groans, and Kurt can feel his thighs quivering. "Jesus. Fuck, _Kurt_."

Hand gripping onto Blaine's hip, Kurt goes lower, down until he's mouthing over Blaine's balls and Blaine's jerking backward, moaning high in his throat as he twists the comforter in his fists. Kurt runs his tongue along the seam, back up to his hole and down, propping himself up on one hand as he cups Blaine's balls and sucks one into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the smooth flesh.

Blaine's chanting his name now, babbling useless noises as Kurt runs the broad of his palm along the hot, slick length of Blaine's cock. Pulling back just enough that his breath fans over Blaine's quivering hole, Kurt says, "Do you want me to fuck you, Blaine?"

He grabs one of Blaine's cheeks, squeezing before drawing his hand back and slapping hard. Blaine groans and shifts on the bed as the sound rings out and the skin of his ass turns a bright heated red. The light from the window plays over his skin, highlights the divots and curves of his body. "Please. Please fuck me; I need it."

Blaine turns sideways, wordlessly seeking, and Kurt complies; he leans forward and captures Blaine's lips in a desperate kiss, tongues and teeth and too much saliva and Kurt can feel the low, rumbling groan when Blaine must taste himself mixed in with the lube. Kurt grabs the lube from the mass of bedcovers and uncaps it, drizzling it over his dick to slick himself up. A hand to the base and one smoothing down Blaine's flank, Kurt pushes in without warning, burying himself to the hilt and waiting for Blaine's surprised moan of pain to fade.

"_Yes_." The word is drawn-out, pinched, and Blaine's palms are flat to the bed, back bowed and knees spreading.

Kurt wordlessly pulls out and fucks back in, gripping tight onto Blaine's hips to hold him still. He shifts, spacing Blaine's knees further apart with his, and leans forward, removing one hand from Blaine's hip to find Blaine's fist and unclench it, running his fingers over the matching promise ring they'd gotten each other the summer Blaine had moved out here to start his own college career. Like this Kurt can feel Blaine's back undulating, feel his body and torso moving and meeting every one of Kurt's thrusts. Blaine's panting, breath staccato, labored, moans bubbling up but losing themselves before they really leave Blaine's mouth. The slap of their skin is intensified this way and Kurt loves it, loves when they get raw and primal and _real_.

Hot lips to sweaty skin, Kurt kisses the nape of Blaine's neck one last time before straightening up again, removing his hand from Blaine's. He changes angles, pushes forward hard and Blaine cries out, falling down to his elbows.

The bed squeaks, springs groaning a weak protest as Kurt fucks harder into Blaine, and now Blaine's whining with every slap of Kurt's upper thighs and balls to his ass, head hung low. He's worked one arm under himself, hand wrapped around his cock and jerking to the rough tempo of Kurt's hips.

The rim of Blaine's asshole is swollen, reddened, clenching around his length and Kurt pulls out to just the very tip of his cock, watching Blaine continue to clench futilely around almost nothing. "Kurt," Blaine says, his voice breathy, wrecked and frustrated. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to.

Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine's midsection, pulling his back flush against him as he thrusts deep, complying with Blaine's unspoken question. Blaine tosses his head back with a low groan. Kurt presses a kiss to the damp skin at the top of Blaine's shoulder, trailing a hand down Blaine's abdomen to grasp his cock and smooth his thumb over the head.

"Oh, fuck yes," Blaine moans. He pushes his ass up to meet Kurt's thrusts, then bucks forward into Kurt's fist. "Right there, baby, right there. C'mon, fuck me."

The bed gives an even louder protesting creak and for a second Kurt falters, afraid that it's finally going to collapse after all these years, but then Blaine's twisting, supporting his weight with his right hand while his left goes back to grab Kurt's ass and push him forward. "If the damn bed breaks," Blaine says through gritted teeth, "you're fucking me on the floor and we'll buy a new bed tomorrow. So please _move_."

Kurt groans and pulls out, gripping onto Blaine's hips to flip him over. Kurt grabs Blaine under the knees and Blaine plants his feet on Kurt's chest, arching his back as he squirms closer. They breathe for just a moment, locking eyes, and Blaine's flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, sweat dotting his hairline and glistening on his skin. Lips bitten red and swollen from kissing, parted as the pink tip of Blaine's tongue swipes out to wet them.

Without hesitating Kurt slides back in, reaching down to grab Blaine's cock and pump until Blaine's squirming and moaning, head tossed back as Kurt bends him in half. "Gonna come, _shit_, so close, Kurt. Oh, fuck, _fuck_!"

It takes one last swipe of Kurt's palm over the head of his cock before Blaine's coming in thick streaks, ass clenching around Kurt's cock until he's coming a few thrusts later with a low moan, letting Blaine's legs drop as he slumps forward and braces himself with his hands.

After Kurt cleans them off he settles down onto the bed next to Blaine, head resting on his chest as Blaine cards gentle fingers through his hair. It feels good to be like this, to just _have_ this, to have a boyfriend that he can rest against, to hear his heartbeat and run his fingers up and down his torso lazily like they've got all the time in the world.

"I love you," he says eventually, Blaine's heartbeat steady in his ear.

"I love you, too," Blaine replies, pressing a kiss to the top of Kurt's head. "What brought this sentimentality on?"

Kurt half-shrugs, running his knuckles along the defined muscles of Blaine's abdomen. "Just thinking how lucky I am." He pauses and corrects. "_We_ are."

Kurt can't see, but he's sure that Blaine's raising an eyebrow. "If you say so." He doesn't say anything else, just picks Kurt's right hand up from his abdomen and brings it up to kiss the simple silver band on his ring finger. "Do you remember when I made you that promise in high school?"

Kurt nods and sits up, shifting to look at Blaine. "You said you'd always be my boy," he answers, smiling a little. "And then you gave me a ring made from Extra and Orbit gum wrappers."

"And I still mean it," Blaine says, grinning a little at the memory. "What we have now, we'll have that forever if I have my way."

"_Our_ way," Kurt says, pressing a kiss to Blaine's lips.

"Our way," Blaine reiterates.

They don't leave the bed for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
